The Caged Bird Sings
by Eurydice125
Summary: 17 year old Johanna recounts her life so far, detailing the events prior to, during, and after Sweeney Todd. Inspired by both the stage version and the movie.
1. By the Sea

_New Note: I started this story back in November, so the beginning is taken more from the stage version than the movie, but the later chapters have parts from the movie._

_A note: The "Sweeney Todd" book is by Hugh Wheeler, and the music and lyrics of the play are by (of course) Stephen Sondheim. I will rarely use lyrics from the play, but I will probably use a lot of spoken lines (from both the stage version and film)._

- - -

Prologue – _One year after the end of 'Sweeney Todd'_

- - -

I like Plymouth.

I have to keep telling Anthony this. He asks me at least once a day in some way or another. He either asks how I like it here, or he'll ask the blunt question and ask if I've recovered from everything that happened last year. Other times he merely looks at me for too long. Not in the way that he did when we first met. Back then, there was something of awe and wonder in his looks. Now, it has softened into concern and hint of worrying.

_Have I recovered yet?_

I'm not sure. I keep myself occupied during the day, so I'm too busy to think of anything in the past. It's only at night that I have trouble. Even though Anthony is lying only a few inches from me, I close my eyes and I see nothing but dead faces. So all I can do is lie awake at night, like I am now, listening to Anthony's steady breathing and occasional whimper. I look over at his serene face, but there are moments when his brow furrows in a way that makes me wonder if he has nightmares too.

I don't just dream about the bodies. I see the inside of the asylum. I dream that I am inside the freezing, crowded cell again. I see Anthony outside the small window and scream out for him, but he doesn't hear me or look at me. When I have dreams like this, I wake up screaming with tears on my face and Anthony holding me tightly and telling me that I'm safe. When I wake in the morning, Anthony is either still holding me tightly to his chest or our hands are linked between us.

There's a certain peace here, being by the sea. I can hear the waves, but they are not so loud that it distracts and annoys. The air smells of salt and other ocean scents that I can't define. Being so near to the sea, I know that Anthony feels trapped. He doesn't say it aloud, but he's meant to be on the sea. There's something in the way he looks out towards the horizon and the way his handsome profile looks against the gray skies and dark blue water. He tells me he doesn't want to go.

"If I have my way, I'll stay here with you forever," He said the other day, his face looking more boyish when he smiles softly. Then his face went a bit more serious. "I promised you I'd never leave you again."

He remembers when I was taken away. The intolerable months spent in the asylum. Then the blood…

"I'll be fine on my own for a bit," I replied, but we both know that "a bit" could mean weeks or months. "I'm perfectly capable…"

"It's not that…," He sighed and shifted uncomfortably. Then I understood. He was afraid that I would really go insane from being so shaken up by what had happened back in London.

"Do I seem insane to you?" I said, hands on my hips. My tone was slightly joking, but mostly serious. He opened his mouth to reply, to deny thinking any such thing, but I kept going. "I'm not going to try and kill myself the moment you leave."

I've rarely seen Anthony angry, but on that occasion, he cast an uncharacteristic glare in my direction. "That's not funny." He sighed angrily and looked out the window towards the sea. Then his tone softened and his voice almost broke. "I...I don't want to just abandon you."

That melted any anger I held towards him. His back was towards me as he faced the window, so I reached around his waist and rested my chin on his shoulder.

"You wouldn't be abandoning me," I murmured in his ear. I kissed his cheek gently and smiled as I continued, "If anything, I'd be throwing you out."

"Hm," He smiled a bit and turned so that I was in his arms completely. His fingers absentmindedly reached up to stroke the side of my face. His lips met mine, and the sensation was so wonderfully familiar that it spread warmth throughout my entire body.

"I'm fine," I whispered against his mouth as we broke apart. "Really."

If he didn't believe me, he didn't say anything.

- - -

_Short start, I know, but there's much more to come._


	2. Sitting in Cages

_From here on, this will be Johanna's perspective on the events that take place _during _Sweeney Todd._

- - -

Chapter 1

- - -

He was not my father.

I knew that from when I was very little. I don't know how I knew it; he only came out and said that I wasn't his biological daughter once or twice. I asked about my mother once when I was five or six. His reply was curt, but I got the message. I did not have a mother, nor a real father. The story he told me was simple and tragic: that my mother had gotten pregnant as when she was only sixteen and that the father had abandoned her. I believed this up until the fateful days in December when my life was turned upside down. It was only much later on that I discovered the truth about my parents.

I saw nothing of myself in the Judge. When I looked at him, I saw an oily smile and cold eyes. It became more acute as I got older. When I was younger, I accepted everything he said and did without complaint or question. But as I grew up, I felt more and more resentful of his presence. I felt trapped and isolated in a prison of bibles, dark curtains, and brick walls. The Judge only made me uncomfortable.

The awkwardness between us probably started around the time I was twelve or thirteen. I have always been beautiful. I don't say that to be vain; it is merely a general opinion people have about my appearance. I was unaware of how I looked until I became a teenager. I had always liked certain physical parts of myself, yes, but I'd never really considered myself a great beauty. I always liked my hair. It fell in gentle curls on my shoulders and never misbehaved. I also liked my eyes. I remember thinking when I was younger, as I looked in the mirror at a pair of startling blue eyes, that one of my parents must have had these eyes too. It made me feel connected to someone. When I looked at my reflection, I didn't smile with pride at my beauty. I thought of the people that had, at one point, looked like me.

But I digress. As I have said, I became aware of my beauty as a teenager. The Judge would occasionally throw a ball or party. Up until I was thirteen, I was merely deemed "adorable" and "precious" by the guests. When I became a teenager, suddenly women looked at me resentfully and steered their husbands away. Men stood too close to me and were quick to offer champagne or wine. I did not like this kind of attention, at least not from the kind of men the Judge invited to the home. Yet I accepted the attention with a resigned demeanor. By the time I was sixteen, I felt certain that I would end up marrying someone like the Judge: hypocritical, manipulative, and cold.

Then, on a not particularly special day in August the year I was sixteen, my life was suddenly filled with color.

- - -

The day began like any other. I did not complain or wince as one of the maids laced me into a corset and a plain, white dress. The Judge had gone into court early that day, so I did not have to suffer through a morning of his lingering glances and "accidental" touches. Instead, I settled into sewing. That only lasted me about an hour before I became restless and wandered about the house. The heavy curtains in each room gave the house a musty and dark tone. The only place I found relief was on my balcony.

I sighed and leaned on the railing. Suddenly, a cage with a linnet bird inside it came bobbing towards me. I smiled as I recognized the toothless grin of the bird peddler and his plethora of birds in cages.

"How are they today?" I called down, though I already knew the answer, as I asked this question each day.

"Hungry as always, Miss Johanna," The peddler replied with his thick cockney accent.

"Oh," I cooed as the linnet bird hopped around hopelessly in its cage. I opened the cage door and gently stroked the back of the bird. It chirped a bit, but perhaps it was merely as resigned to its fate as I was. I reluctantly closed the cage. Disappointed at his lack of a sale, the peddler started to move away, before a young man stopped him.

The young man looked up at me and smile. I found myself staring into a pair of kind, grey eyes that reminded me of the sea after a storm. His brown hair fell carelessly above his shoulders, with one stray lock remaining stubbornly in his eyes. I had never thought that men could be beautiful before, but the one down in front of my house proved me wrong. When I realized that I was staring, and that he was staring just as boldly back at me, my cheeks flushed appropriately and I averted my eyes. As I decidedly fixated my gaze on the edge of my window, I saw him buy one of the birds out of the corner of my eye. Curiosity got the best of me and I looked at the young man again.

He smiled a bit at me and lifted the cage rather awkwardly in a gesture I took to mean that he bought the bird for me. He moved a few steps further towards the house and lifted the cage towards me again. I moved away from the window and took a few calming breaths. As I opened the door from my bedroom to the hallway, my eyes quickly darted around to make sure that no one could see me. I knew I only had a little time before the Judge would be back from court, so I hurried downstairs and out the front door.

When I came out of the house, I saw the old beggar woman who sometimes lurked about around the neighborhood scurrying away. The young man also had his attention on her, but he suddenly noticed me and got that look of awe on his face again. I blushed under his bold, scrutinizing gaze.

After a brief moment, he held out the caged bird to me, while he murmured, "Absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you," was my very eloquent reply. I smiled a bit as I reached for the cage. As my fingers touched the bars, they also met his fingers, and I felt a sudden jolt go from my fingertips up through my body. He took another step towards me, and opened his mouth to speak –

"Johanna!" My name came out partly as a command, partly as an admonition. Either way, I recognized the voice of the Judge. Sure enough, over the young man's shoulder, I saw both the Judge and the Beadle approaching.

Out of fear more than anything else, my hands dropped from the cage and I turned my back on the young man. Under my breath, I cursed myself: "I knew…I knew this would happen." I was shocked at myself for thinking that I was allowed any happiness in life. I had lost both my parents when I was young, I had spent most of my adolescence shut up from human eye…there was no reason think that my luck would change.

I could vaguely hear the exchange between the young man and the Judge behind me:

"If I see your face again on this or any other neighbor street, you'll rue the day you were born. Is that plain enough speaking for you?" The Judge's voice left no room for argument, and I fully expected the young man to walk away quietly.

"But, sir, I swear to you there was nothing in my heart but the most respectful sentiments of—" I turned around in surprise when I heard the young man speak. His tone was surprisingly respectful towards the Judge, but there was also a defensive note in there. But anyway, the Judge would hear nothing of it.

"Dispose of him!" The Judge gestured briefly to the Beadle before turning his gaze on me. I looked down at my feet, hoping that I could make the gesture seem like it was out of respect more than disgust.

"You heard his worship."

The Beadle smirked at the young man, whose gaze did not leave my face as he replied, "But, friend, I have no fight with you."

The Beadle looked unimpressed and reached for the cage still in the young man's hands. That made the young man turn his eyes away from me and look questioningly at the Beadle. Pulling the bird from the cage, the Beadle stroked the creature idly for a moment, before brutally snapping its neck.

I heard a noise of disgust and protest exit my mouth, but no one paid any attention, except the young man, who looked at me sympathetically, as if it was all his fault that all that had happened. Vaguely, I heard the Beadle mock the young man, "Get the gist of it, friend? Next time it'll be your neck!"

And with that, both the Judge and the Beadle turned their backs on the young man, who looked at me, then at the discarded body of the dead bird with equal looks of sadness and sympathy. But then the Judge blocked him from my view and I saw no more of the young man.

"Johanna, if I were to think you encouraged that young rogue. . ." The Judge's threatening tone was obvious, but there was also a trace of genuine hurt and surprise in his eyes that made me want to tell him how much I really hate him.

Instead, I smiled sweetly and innocently widened my eyes. In a purposely breathless voice, I replied, "Oh father, I hope always to be obedient to your commands."

I thought that I might have overdone it, but my performance worked. The anger melted off his lined face, and he smiled in understanding. My skin crawled when the Judge reached over to pat my cheek fondly. Any passerby would have thought it nothing more than a friendly father-daughter gesture.

"Dear child…" The Judge began, before his eyes boldly traced my body, but without the innocence and admiration of the young man from before. Instead, his gaze seemed more like rape; he assumed that I was simply his for the taking, without fight or protest. The Judge's voice became smoother, and much more unwelcome, "How sweet you look in that light muslin gown."

Ah, yes. Any passerby would have thought us no more than father and daughter, but I knew better. The possessive, lustful look in his eyes dispelled any idea that his feelings towards me were remotely paternal.

I could not hide my disgust that time. With a look that I hoped would pass for one of an adolescent tantrum, I turned my back on the Judge and walked back into the house. When the Judge was a few feet away from the front door, I boldly closed it in his face.

- - -


	3. Honorable

_Whew, lots of stuff coming up in this chapter:_

- - -

Chapter Two

- - -

The rest of the day was hazy. I did not even bother trying to pretend to listen to the Judge over dinner. The dazed, but happy, look on my face must have been what made something in the Judge snap. When I returned to my room that night for bed, I noticed that the window was shuttered. Confused (as I had never closed the shutters before), I tried to open the shutters, but they remained stubbornly shut. It was only after a few minutes of pulling on the shutters vainly, I registered the fact that the shutters were, in fact, nailed shut. Frowning, I went back downstairs and knocked on the door of the Judge's study.

"Come in," The Judge's voice was oily as always, but there was a note of surprise in it as well. I rarely (if ever) willingly approached him.

When I entered, the Judge was lounging in a chair, reading, with a glass of brandy in one hand. Ah, that would make things difficult. It was always much harder to have a conversation with the Judge when he'd been drinking, heavily or otherwise. As I stepped into the room, he set the book aside but kept the drink in hand.

"Sir," I greeted him rather curtly. There was no point in acting as though I was pleased with him. "The shutters on my window have been nailed shut."

"I'm aware," The Judge answered a bit stiffly. It was clear that my less than warm greeting was not what he had been hoping for.

"Well, sir…" My mind raced to find a way to respond without seeming impertinent. Smiling in what I hoped was a sweet way, I softened my tone, "Would you be so kind as to tell my why you thought that nailing the shutters closed was necessary?"

"You've always been fond of sitting near that window," The Judge said this as a statement, and I vaguely wondered about how he knew that I sit by my window so often. To my knowledge, he had only entered my room a handful of times in the past few years. "With so many…rogues roaming the streets these days, it would be unwise for a young girl like yourself to be so open to their view."

I did not see the logic in that at all.

"But, sir-" I started to say, but he cut me off sharply.

"This is not open for discussion, my dear," The Judge said, his tone dark. "Whether you know it now or not, this is the right course of action."

I sighed, but I knew there was no point in arguing further. I noticed that the Judge was looking at me oddly, obviously trying to gauge my reaction.

"Of course, father," I replied with relative sweetness. "Well…goodnight."

I awkwardly turned and made a move towards the door to leave, but the Judge spoke again, making me sigh impatiently in my head:

"Are you so much a young lady now that you can't kiss your father goodnight?"

I almost shivered in revulsion. I did not know what disturbed me more: the fact that he wanted me to kiss him goodnight, or that he referred to himself as my father. In any case, I managed to force an apologetic smile to my face, and I walked over to him as slowly as humanly possible. Suddenly, I noticed a flash of silver at the edge of the Judge's pocket, and a reckless thought gripped me. I knew what was in the Judge's pocket: the key to the house, which locked me inside day after day. In my mind's eye, I saw the young man from that morning.

'You're being stupid,' I thought to myself. 'You're going to risk getting caught with that key for the sake of a boy you don't know you'll ever see again?'

But it was too late. I made my decision. Sucking in a quiet breath, I leaned over the arm of his chair to kiss his cheek quickly. I let my hair fall against the Judge's cheek and neck, and when I saw his eyes close in pleasure, I gently pulled the key from his pocket. When I pulled back, there was something in his eyes that would have normally made me feel ill, but I only felt victory in the hand behind my back.

- - -

But, with my luck, I was occupied over the next three days. The Judge did not go into court as usual. Instead, he spent the days with me. Instead of remaining in my room, I sewed and read in the downstairs sitting room. The Judge remained in his study for a time, but he came out more times than I liked to talk with me. I could tell he did not focus on our conversations, however. He studied my body when he thought I was not looking. Those days should have hinted that something about him in regards to me had changed, but I was too anxious to see the young man again that I hardly noticed.

Finally, Friday morning, I paced my room, holding the key in my hand. I hadn't dared to peek between the shutters to see if the young man was there. I didn't want to look out and see an empty street; I wasn't sure I could take another hopeless day. Finally, I decided that I couldn't wait for the Judge to leave for court. Peering out through the shutters, I felt a rush of pleasure. The young man was pacing up and down the sidewalk in front of my house, throwing occasional glances at my window. Smiling, I waited until he cast a glance up at the shutters, then I pushed the key through one of the small openings.

For a moment, I didn't breath. Then, the young man stopped his pacing and looked around him quickly (looking for the Judge, no doubt). I almost wanted to cry with happiness when the young man raced towards the ground under my window and picked up the key. He looked up at my window, but I knew my face was shielded from his view. Nonetheless, he held up the key for me to see and smiled beautifully, before walking towards the sidewalk again.

I didn't know whether to be pleased with myself for taking initiative, or curse myself for being rash and foolish.

'You don't even know this boy,' My mind told me yet again. 'You have no idea what's going on in his head. How do you know he really cares for you? He's only seen you once!'

"But I _do_ know him," I murmured softly to myself. "At least, I feel like I do."

It was true, in a way. I did not know the young man, exactly, but there was something in his eyes that I trusted. Something in those grey depths spoke of trustworthiness and most importantly, kindness. I could picture myself looking into those eyes forever, never growing tired of them. My romantic thoughts were interrupted then, as usual, by the Judge.

"Johanna," The Judge greeted me smoothly. "I trust you've not been near the window again."

"Hardly, dear father, when it has been shuttered and barred these last three days," My voice started out cordially enough, but it ended with an edge.

The Judge seemed to notice my coldness, since his voice took on a defensive tone, "How right I was to insist on such a precaution, for once again…_he_ has come, that conscienceless young sailor. Ten times has he been driven from my door and yet…"

The Judge turned from me during his speech, and I smiled to myself. At the mention of the young man's persistence, I felt my cheeks heat up in spite of myself. After a moment, though, I noticed that the Judge had not seen my pleasure at the reminder of the young man. If anything, the Judge's gaze appreciated the pleasant blush to my cheeks as well as my dress:

"How sweet you look in that light muslin gown."

I groaned internally. I did not want to combat his "subtle" advances for another morning. Before that week, I would have taken his suggestive tone quietly. But something in a pair of stormy grey eyes had changed me: I was hungry for real love, real passion.

Nonetheless, I tried to take the demure route. I reminded him quietly, daughterly, "'Tis nothing but an old dress, father."

The Judge would not be deterred. "But fairer on your young form than wings on an angel…" The way he said "young form" made my skin crawl, but I managed to smile in a flattered sort of way.

'Please, just go,' I thought desperately, but the Judge continued, "Oh, if I were to think…"

"Think what, dear father?" I prompted, wanting him to leave more than ever.

"If I were to think you encouraged this young rogue…" The Judge trailed off, looking at me expectantly.

Internally, I was smiling wryly, while thinking, 'If you only knew…'

To the Judge, I looked appropriately scandalized, "I? A maid trained from the cradle to find in modesty and obedience the greatest of all virtues? Dear father, when have you ceased to warn me of the wickedness of men?"

The sardonic undertones in my voice were lost on the Judge. Instead, he merely smiled approvingly. As if our views of the world were the same, as if he thought we were on the same track, the Judge continued, "Venal young men of the street with only one thought in their heads. But there are men of different and far higher breed. I have one in mind for you."

That stripped away any playfulness I might have managed to view the situation with. Before, I had been indulging the Judge, simply waiting for him to leave the room. But his last statement, sent an unpleasant shiver through my body. Something foreboding entered the air, and I stumbled over my next question:

"Y-y-you have?"

"A gentleman, who would shield you from all earthly cares and guide your faltering steps to the sober warmth of womanhood…" I hated his lofty language. I hated the way he said "womanhood", his tongue caressing each syllable horribly.

But worst of all, the ball of tension and anxiety in the pit of my stomach was only growing. I could see where this was going, but at the end of the tunnel, I only saw despair and misery. I opened my mouth to interrupt, to stop all of this from happening, but no sound came out. I was being submissive and I hated myself. I had lost the recklessness I had felt that morning when I tossed the key out the window. I cursed myself. I was being so weak. I cursed myself again. I deserved this. I deserved all of this for not taking action. I could see how the next few minutes would go, but I didn't stop it. I didn't know how to. I wanted to run away and scream, but I knew I could not. I wanted to cry, but I knew that I would not.

"– a husband." _No._

"– a protector." _Please._

"– and yet an ardent lover too." _STOP!_

"It is a man who through all the years has surely earned your affection," The Judge looked at me hopefully, lecherously, terribly.

The bile and disgust rose in my throat and emerged in a single, awful exclamation from my mouth: "You!?"

'Dear God, let this be a nightmare,' I thought as the Judge continued to look at me expectantly. 'Or if it's reality…' The Judge knelt down and grabbed my limp hand. 'Let me die…just let me die.'

The Judge slipped a ring over my finger. I did not protest, but I was surprised my finger did not fall off from the weight of my hopelessness.

- - -

_Can I just say that I am beyond excited to see Alan Rickman as the Judge in the movie? Hee…_


	4. Kiss Me

_Okay, I'm a bad person…over a month and no updates. But, hey, the movie came out, and, personally, I thought it was awesome. I really missed the Johanna/Judge/Anthony triangle that seemed to be shoved further into the background, but the movie was still fantastic._

_By the way, don't be afraid to leave reviews…hint, hint, nudge, nudge_

- - -

Chapter Three

- - -

After the Judge's "proposal", I was in a trance. The Judge quickly left for court, so I had no idea what his thoughts about my less than pleased reaction were. I wandered about the house, dazed, but not in the pleasant way that I had during the previous days. Rather, I was dazed, but I also felt sick to my stomach. Every few seconds I had to pause, afraid that I would either faint or be ill. I finally collapsed on the chaise in the downstairs sitting room, and I let the tears flow. I couldn't remember the last time I cried. Most of the time when I felt depressed, I was alone, and I merely suffered in silence. Other times, the Judge was around, so I did not let my sadness show. If I cried in his presence, I would not want his comfort.

I stayed on the chaise for what felt like hours, sobbing until my body felt completely drained. My throat swollen and my eyes red and sore, I was suddenly jolted back to reality by the distinct sound of a key turning a lock. I sat up abruptly, remembering how I had tossed the key out to the young man that morning. My mind raced. I didn't know how to act…how could I begin to explain the situation I was in?

I didn't even have time to get up from the chaise before the young man stepped into the room. I must have been a fright, but the eager look on his face when he entered merely melted into an expression of compassion.

"Ah, miss," His voice sounded wonderful to my ears. After years of listening to few but the Judge and the Beadle, the young man's two syllables were something akin to heaven.

He knelt by my side, quickly taking my hands in his. He kissed the back of my hands before looking up at my tear-stained face questioningly.

"I'm to be married," I managed to croak out, my voice rougher and lower than usual.

"To who?" He asked, a crease forming on his perfect brow.

"My…the Judge," I replied bitterly as I again felt the urge to be ill when the initial reply, 'my father', came into my head. "And it's to be this Monday…" Before I knew it, tears were spilling down my cheeks again. "I might as well die…I feel like I will…"

At my response, the young man's face darkened. I half-expected him to leave right then, too disturbed by that information to want to stay. Instead, he took my face in his hands and looked at me kindly, intensely.

"I have a plan," The young man told me, his voice earnest. Then he looked surprisingly shy as he asked, "Who would you rather marry: the Judge…or…me?"

"Oh, sir…," I didn't know what to say. As quickly as my life had become a nightmare, it was suddenly a dream. An unfamiliar urge gripped me then, and before I could think, my arms were around the young man and my lips met his.

Before that day, I would have been mortified at how forward I was. But, as desperation gripped me, I couldn't think of anything more than the wonderful sensation of the young man's soft mouth on mine. I inhaled the faint smell of the sea and tobacco, a scent that I instantly loved. There was several days' worth of stubble around his mouth and jaw, but the rough texture only made me more aware of the fact that young man was actually _there_. He wasn't a dream or an illusion. For once in my life, I felt a surge of happiness that I never wanted to lose.

'I could do this forever…' I thought as our kiss went on and on.

It was strange. I had never before believed in love at first sight. The idea was unrealistic…absurd, really…but I did not know how else to think of the connection between the young man and myself. As odd as it seemed to me at the time, there was some inexplicable force that drew us together. As the Judge repelled me, the young man holding me attracted me more than anything I had ever felt before.

Finally, reluctantly, we broke apart, gasping for air. The young man leaned his forehead against mine and smiled as he whispered, "Is that a 'yes'?"

"I would have to say so," I whispered back while laughing softly.

His smile widened and he nuzzled his face in my hair gently. "I knew…the moment I saw you…"

I had never smiled so much in my life. "I know exactly what you mean," I replied.

"Mm…" He murmured softly in agreement before kissing the top of my head and stepping back to face me. "This really isn't what you deserve." Upon my questioning look, he continued, "You deserve a slow, perfect courtship. Not some scandalous elopement…and especially not with a sailor." At his last statement, a blush appeared on his high, perfect cheekbones.

"You're wrong," I murmured. "This is perfect, really." Then it struck me: I didn't even know his name. "Er…"

"What is it?" He looked concerned, probably scared that I was changing my mind.

"I don't know your name," I told him, laughing a bit at how ridiculous that was.

He looked startled for a moment, then amused. "It's Anthony. Anthony Hope."

"Anthony," I tried his name out on my tongue, and it rolled out easily. I smiled and said it again.

"It's all right, you have the rest of your life to wear my name out," Anthony teased. I blushed, but secretly pleased nonetheless.

"We shouldn't wait until Monday," Anthony continued. "Sunday, rather…or even tomorrow."

I hadn't known that I could smile that much. "Sunday's fine…but…," I glanced around the room quickly. "I can't stay here anymore. I need to leave tonight."

He smiled kindly and kissed my forehead. "Of course. I have a friend on Fleet Street…"

And so for the next two hours we talked. We did things out of order: first we discussed how I could stay with Mr. Sweeney Todd for an hour or so that night while Anthony arranged our journey to Plymouth. Only after we agreed on how we would manage to elope did we discuss ourselves. There was little to tell Anthony about myself. When I told him that I had no family, he was sympathetic. When I described my true feelings towards the Judge (the first time I had discussed that with anyone), in addition to the way that the Judge viewed me, Anthony's arms tightened around me protectively.

I fell a little more in love with him with everything he did. The way his lovely eyes sparkled when he described his home in Plymouth; the gentle way he described his mother; the tinge of sadness in his voice when he told me that his father had died several years ago. I learned that he was twenty three, and that he had become a sailor five years ago after his father died. With his wages, he supported both himself and his mother in Plymouth. His favorite place that he had visited was one of the islands off of Greece. By the time I took the time to notice outside, the sun had almost completely set.

Also noticing how late it was, Anthony got to his feet, and I reluctantly slipped out of his arms for a moment. Smiling, he kissed my forehead encouragingly and gently ran his hands up and down my arms until our hands were linked again.

"I promise, I'll be back in less than an hour," Anthony told me as I walked him to the door, my hand never leaving his.

"You're…you're sure about all this?" Anthony asked quietly after a beat, looking extremely shy again. "I mean…this is all rather sudden."

"Yes, just a bit…" I couldn't help but tease him a bit. I knew that there was something to be noted of in what he said, I knew that I should be less reckless, but I was too drunk on love right then to care.

As I watched him leave quietly and walk out of sight, I smiled with the knowledge that I was finally finished with being silent in the dark. Instead, I was moving towards a world drenched in color, song, and above all, light.

I walked absentmindedly towards the stairs, but on my way I passed one of the large mirrors in the front hall. Staring back at me was a girl that I didn't know. Her lips were swollen from attention, her hair slightly mussed, but what stood out was how alive and happy her eyes were. The girl in the mirror had a smile on her face that grew when mine did. I felt tears prick my eyes as I took in my new appearance and felt a surge of genuine hope for the first time in my life.

- - -

_So, yeah…I have discovered that it is really difficult to write a believable dialogue version of 'Kiss Me', but continuous viewing of Lisa Vroman and Davis Gaines's version got me through it._

_You may have noticed, but I've decided to make Anthony less annoying and more of, well, a man. I have never understood why so many actors who play Anthony make him overly innocent and naïve aka really annoying. I'm trying to emphasize more his goodness and kindness rather than his naivety._


	5. End of the World

_I've decided to use parts of the movie version in this chapter. I really liked how they included a confrontation between Johanna and the Judge…but maybe I'm biased because I like anything that means more Alan Rickman. Hee._

_Long chapter!_

- - -

Chapter Four

- - -

After Anthony's departure, I raced up the stairs to my room. I sat anxiously on my bed for a moment, too nervous to even attempt to pack. And anyway, I wasn't sure if I even had anything to pack. I glanced around my room to take a quick survey of my possessions. There were some china dolls on the my shelves that I had adored as a child, my sewing discarded near my window, a few books, a brush, and a reticule from that I had inherited from my mother. A faint smile tugged at my lips as a gazed at the one thing that showed that I had had a life before the Judge.

I got up from my bed slowly and took the reticule from its resting place near my bureau. It was light blue with light gold thread weaving a design on it. I shut my eyes and let my fingers run over the soft satin and drawstring, imagining my mother doing the same thing once upon a time. I could envision her: a girl who looked a lot like me, but with green eyes. Her nose was a bit longer, her mouth a bit fuller, her face more of a heart shape. She was beautiful. Suddenly I realized that it was not only my imagination; it was a memory. I squeezed my eyes closed tighter and breathed in and out slowly, trying desperately to retain the vague memory.

I realized that my mother wasn't exactly a girl. She was a young woman, who looked to be in her early twenties or so. Her lovely blonde hair was curlier than mine and longer, too; it ended somewhere between the middle of her back and her waist. In my memory, she was smiling. She laughed and cooed gently at the sight of…me? She was holding me, I was a baby…I remembered…a man…

The memory faded quickly, like sand slipping through fingers. I opened my eyes and realized that tears were stinging my eyes. I quickly wiped them away and tightened my grip on the reticule. I knew that I would take nothing else with me.

"I'll start over," I said aloud. "Nothing more of this life…I'll begin again."

"Indeed."

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of the Judge's voice. I whirled around to face him, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. His dark eyes traveled up and down my body, but the usual lustfulness in his gaze was gone. In its place was disappointment…and perhaps, disgust?

He moved into the room, surveying it as I had done only moments before. I wondered what he was thinking. As he stood silent, I could not help but think back on our relationship over the years. When I had been a child, I had loved him as any daughter would have. Perhaps if things had stayed that way, if he had never crossed an unforgivable line in our relationship…perhaps things would have been better, easier.

Perhaps.

Finally, he spoke, and his voice seemed to weigh each word carefully, "I told myself that the sailor was lying."

I was frozen. My blood ran cold. Something in the Judge's voice, the mention of Anthony, filled me with dread. Something terrible inside me whispered that the worst was yet to come. Fear, a familiar feeling by then in my life, licked uncomfortably at my insides.

"I told myself this was a cruel fiction…," The Judge continued. "That _my_ Johanna would never betray me. Never hurt me so."

The terrifically hurt look on his face actually eased my fear rather than fueled it. In place of worrying, I couldn't help but think: 'How deluded were you?'

Aloud, I kept my tone steady and firm, "Sir, I will leave this place."

I braced myself for the worst, but to my surprise, the Judge responded neutrally, "I think that only appropriate." As I raised a questioning eyebrow, the Judge went on, "Since you no longer find my company to your liking, we shall provide you with new lodgings."

Bile rose in my throat as I saw the familiar, cumbersome figure of the Beadle fill my doorway.

"Sir-" I began, pleadingly, but the Judge cut me off.

"When you have learned to appreciate what you have, perhaps we shall meet again," The Judge said, as coolly as if we were discussing the weather. Then, his gaze hardened and his tone became venomous. "Until then…think on your sins."

A thousand awful replies rose in my throat, along with my hand as if to strike him, but before I could act or speak, the Beadle grabbed me.

"No!" I screamed, the anguish and despair in my voice coming from deep in my soul. "No, you can't do this!"

I screamed as the Beadle struggled to lead me into the hallway and down the stairs. The Judge waited in the entrance hall, and his eyes betrayed no emotion as I screamed at him. He did not look at me until I wrenched one hand free of the Beadle's grasp to grab hold of the Judge's jacket. Before the Beadle could yank me away, I hissed in the Judge's face, "He means more to me than you ever could."

I might as well have slapped him across the face. The Judge paled considerably, but his mouth tightened as he helped the Beadle pull me out the door of the house. I saw a carriage waiting outside for me. Green, foreboding letters spelled out "FOGG'S ASYLUM." Panic and desperation gripped me. One last time, I screamed out for the Judge, "No, please! Please don't do this!" He didn't even look at me.

"Johanna!"

_Anthony. Thank God._

"Antho-" The Beadle's hand covered my mouth, muffling my scream. My eyes met Anthony's for a moment as he raced down the street towards me, but then the Beadle shoved me unceremoniously into the carriage, before slamming the door behind me.

"No!" I grasped at the bars on the window of the carriage and screamed out to Anthony.

"Anthony!"

I felt the carriage lurch forward, and I screamed even louder. My screaming did nothing, though. The residents of Mayfair with their snobbish tendencies were in no position to help me. If they even bothered to look outside, they would only see the asylum carriage and probably deem that I must have done something to deserve confinement. I could vaguely see and hear Anthony and the Judge exchange angry words, but then the carriage turned the corner and Anthony was out of sight.

- - -

I was in hell. There was no doubt about it. Only in hell would there be such screams of agony and madness. Only in hell would there be such a universal sense of hopelessness. There was no light, no air. I could scarcely breathe. Fogg's Asylum was near the river, and the rotting smells of the harbor and nearby fish markets carried into the asylum. There was also the stench of the maniacs, who seemed to be rotting alive before my eyes. Some seemed to be wasting away. They were living skeletons, and I couldn't blame them. We got water and gruel that was practically inedible twice a day. My cellmates let the food pile up, adding to the general rotting scent in the air.

I was most certainly in hell.

- - -

Time passed slowly. With a piece of stone that had broken away from the walls I carved into the wall the number of days I had been in the asylum. The only things I could do to pass the time were to count the days, watch the light grow and dim during the day, and sing.

Time passed slowly.

- - -

_Anthony._

'Grey eyes. Brown hair. Dimple on his left cheek. Impossibly soft mouth. Small scar above right eyebrow. Few inches taller than me.'

_Anthony._

'Loves me. Loves me. Loves me.'

_Anthony._

'He'll come for me…he'll come for me like he did before.'

_Anthony._

'Kiss me.'

_Anthony._

In my mind, his name was like a heartbeat, a constant whisper of the wind.

_Anthony._

- - -

For I time, I thought that I really _was_ going mad. I sang day and night to keep the demons inside me at bay. I concentrated on Anthony. I reached out and grasped at the memory of my mother over and over again. Otherwise, if I didn't concentrate on the few good memories I had, I would retreat to the darker corners of my mind. In those dark parts, I saw nothing in my future but a dark cell. Other times I saw a future with the Judge. I could see his hands, his mouth on me, and then I would have to retch.

But, no. I would not succumb to madness and despair. I was sane. I was sane. I was sane. I had to be.

_Anthony…please, God, let him come._

- - -

Time passed slowly.

I became lethargic and slept more often than I sang. I felt drugged constantly. Before, my body felt uncomfortable in a corset. In the asylum, I lost weight and had no need for such confinement. I could count my ribs easily. My hair was lank and dirty. My lips dried out. My nails had dirt under them and my hands became rough from when I would occasionally scratch at the walls.

During the fourth month I was in the asylum, I floated in and out of consciousness. I sang more and more to fight the urge to sleep. If I slept, I feared that I would never wake. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I registered that it was December. I felt the wind grow stronger, the chill harsher. If I didn't starve to death, I would most certainly freeze or die of disease.

Then, I was grabbed by a rough arm. I struggled weakly against Fogg as he dragged me towards a man. I was so weak…weak…I saw a pair of grey eyes.

_Anthony._

I cried out for him without thinking. I was in his arms. Fogg was furious. Anthony was not a killer, but years in a prison and asylum had given me the strength to do what he could not.

A shot. A shout. Chaos.

But I did not care. I saw only Anthony. As we ran out into the open air of the street, I regained my senses. Then I was on the cobblestone street, on my knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Johanna, Johanna," Anthony murmured my name soothingly. "It's all right…I've got you, love, I've got you…"

I couldn't breath. I kept sobbing and sobbing. Anthony held me tightly to his chest, cradling me in his arms in the middle of the street and whispering words of comfort and love. I was only vaguely aware of maniacs rushing out of the asylum and into the streets around us.

"Anthony," I finally pulled back to look at his face. "I felt so…I felt lost." Tears flowed down my face freely.

"Johanna," Anthony wiped the tears off my cheeks and cradled my face in his hands. "I will _always _find you. I promise, you will _never_ get lost again."

Then I was sobbing again, but that time in relief. I knew that he was telling the truth.

Time resumed.

- - -

_Wow, writing a half-crazy Johanna is difficult. Hope you all liked it! (PS – I might have the next chapter up tomorrow, because I'm feeling so inspired by the movie.)_


	6. My Jo, My Jing

_Again, some of this will be from the movie version. And a note: you will have to suspend your disbelief at certain points in this chapter (you'll see what I mean)._

- - -

Chapter Five

- - -

After I had calmed down, Anthony helped me to my feet and led my down street after street. It took a few more minutes before I could ask where we would go.

"You should change," Anthony replied, not letting go of my hand. "It won't take long for the Judge to find out that you've gone from the asylum. You'll need a disguise."

"So where are we going?" I pressed.

"Back to the inn I've been staying at for a few minutes, then Fleet Street. You remember what I told you about Mr. Todd?" Anthony glanced at me briefly before we crossed another winding street.

"I've checked with him, and you can stay there for a half hour or so," Anthony continued. I must have tightened my grip on his hand, because he soothed me, "Only a half hour, I promise. After that, I'll never leave you again." He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

We arrived at a small inn a few blocks away from Fleet Street. Anthony motioned for me to try to enter quietly. We moved silently passed a harried looking landlady who was loudly haggling with two customers. Anthony led me up the handsome staircase to a hallway with several doors leading to the rooms. We entered Anthony's room quickly, and he closed the door right after me.

"Here," Anthony opened a bag that was on his bed and took out a shirt and a pair of pants that I recognized as a sailor uniform. He held them out to me and told me quietly, "You can change into these." He smiled softly, kindly. "They'll be big on you, but you won't have to worry about being recognized."

I nodded silently and took the clothes from him. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Smiling a bit for the first time in ages, I gestured for him to turn around so I could change. A blush appeared on his cheeks, and he quickly turned around. I smiled at the surreal situation I was in and quickly undressed. Anthony politely kept his back to me the entire time, but I could swear that I heard him sharply intake a breath when my clothes hit the floor with a rustle. I practically sighed with relief when my filthy dress was discarded, and I awkwardly pulled on the male clothes.

As I hesitated with the clothes, I broke the tense silence between Anthony and me: "Now you'll have a story to tell your fellow sailors."

Anthony chuckled a bit under his breath. "Ah, yes…I can tell them the sordid story of how a sprung a girl from an asylum and then took horrible advantage of her after her traumatic experience."

"Terribly romantic," I teased weakly as I pulled on the large shirt.

"I was at my most seductive."

I smiled a bit. "You can turn around, now," I told him after a beat.

He turned, took in my appearance, and immediately reached back into his bag for something else. When he withdrew from the bag, he was holding a traditional sailor hat.

"This might help a bit," Anthony said with a soft smile, handing me the hat.

I twisted my long hair in my hands and attempted to conceal as much of it as I could in the hat.

"Here, let me help," Anthony reached out and gently tucked loose strands of hair under the cap. The gesture was so gentle, so tender that I almost began to cry again. When he finished, he stroked my cheek softly for a minute. Then he cleared his throat and continued, "We should hurry."

He slung his bag over his shoulder and guided me out the door. We hesitated at the top of the stairs before making sure the coast was clear. Anthony looked out, nodded at me, and we escaped to the street. We ran the blocks that led to Fleet Street, and there were no policemen around to question us; no doubt they were consumed with the escapees of Fogg's Asylum.

"Here," Anthony breathed in relief when Mr. Todd's shop came into view. We ran passed the entrance to the pie shop beneath it and raced up the stairs along the side of the building that led to Mr. Todd's.

"Mr. Todd?" Anthony called out for his friend, but there was no answer. Anthony shook his head. "No matter, wait for him here. I'll return with the coach in less than half and hour."

I nodded vacantly. There was something about the room…Anthony gently kissed my forehead before he left, but I was distracted. I glanced around the room and felt an emotion that I couldn't name rise up in me. I idly walked towards the chair in the center of the room, and I traced its soft contours. I had the strangest feeling that I had been there before…

My eyes fell on a framed picture of a young woman holding a baby. The young woman looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place her. Suddenly, I felt an odd sensation grip me, as if I were falling back into a memory. I squeezed my eyes shut and flashes erupted in front of my eyes:

_A man. My father. He has a kind face made handsome by its openness. He smells clean and fresh, like the world after a Spring rain. He holds a flower and a doll in his hands, teasing me with them. "My baby…my sweet girl…," He murmurs, holding up the doll to tease me._

_A woman. My mother. She is utterly breathtaking. She cradles me in her arms and sings a lullaby. My father approaches and they exchange a look. They are completely in love._

Suddenly, the images changed. I opened my eyes, wanting to forget everything, but the unlocked memories pulled me under as if to drown me.

_My father again. He is dragged away. Oh, God, come back! Papa! Papa!_

_My mother. She is sobbing. She enters the room crying uncontrollably. There is a vivid red stain at the center of her dress that spreads towards her hem. There are bruises on her arms, throat, and lips. Another woman attempts to console her. My mother shoves her away. "Ben! I want Ben!" She screams. I smell blood, dirt, and another sharp scent that reeks of death. Oh, mother! Mother!_

The memories let go, but by then I was sobbing as much as my mother had been. I gasped for air and found myself sitting on a large chest. I desperately wanted Anthony. I sobbed hopelessly for the people that I knew to be my mother and father. I did not know what had happened to them, but I could remember the feeling of despair, of betrayal.

"Beadle?"

I heard a strangled raspy, voice. It called once, twice more for the Beadle. I would not be captured again. I would not be imprisoned again. Glancing quickly around me, I settled for the trunk that I was sitting on. I climbed inside easily, since the asylum had made me even more petite than I was naturally. I held my breath as I heard the parlor door open and close. Then, the distinct voice of a woman sang quietly, erratically:

_And why should you weep then, my jo, my jing?  
Oh. . .  
Your father's at tea with the Swedish king.  
He'll bring you the moon on a silver string.  
Oh. . ._

The woman's voice left much to be desired, but the words to her song stirred something within me. The song was a melody I knew.

_Oh. . .  
Quickly to sleep then, my jo, my jing,  
He'll bring you a shoe and a wedding ring.  
Sing here again, home again,  
Come again spring._

The song brought on memories of dead flowers, salty tears, and a deep longing. I couldn't say what the longing was for, but it was for someone…someone I had lost. My father…he hadn't abandoned my mother. At least, not willingly. He had been taken away.

_He'll be coming soon now  
To kiss you, my jo, my jing,  
Bringing you the moon  
And a shoe and a wedding ring.  
He'll be coming here again,  
Home again . . ._

The song tugged at my heart. Unlike the man in the song, my father would not come home. I would be left to my prison with the Judge. The song was hypnotic. I had to know who was singing it, but before I could lift the lid of the trunk, I heard the door fly open, and an inhuman voice yelled:

"You!? What are you doing here?" The man's voice was impatient and rough, almost demonic.

I heard the woman babble on about the "stink of evil" and "the devil's wife", but the man had no patience for her.

"I have no time!" He howled before the woman groaned. There was a mechanical noise, and then a loud _clunk_, before the door to the tonsorial parlor flew open once more.

"Where is she? Where is the girl?"

I breathed in sharply. I recognized the all-too-familiar voice of the Judge, a voice that I had hoped to never hear again. I frowned as I heard the man's conversation with the Judge. I could swear that they were talking about me…

"Ah, Johanna, Johanna," I heard the Judge practically moan, enough to make the meager contents of my stomach threaten to rise.

A few moments of silence. Then, the Judge spoke again: "How seldom it is, one meets a fellow spirit."

There was a beat, then the man spoke bitterly, "With fellow tastes. In women at least."

"What? What's that?" There was confusion in the Judge's voice, but also a hint of anxiousness.

"No doubt the years have changed me," The man continued casually, before his voice took on a dangerous edge. "But then I suppose the face of a barber…the face of a prisoner in the dark is not particularly memorable."

My curiosity got the best of me and I opened the lid of the trunk an inch so that I could peek out. The barber was frightful. His dark hair flew about his face, and his eyes were…unsettling.

"Benjamin Barker!" The Judge screamed as the barber looked down on him with a murderous look in his eyes.

"Benjamin Barker!" The barber howled in agreement, before drawing his razor up and bringing it down to slash across the Judge's throat. Blood spurted everywhere, but the gory sight was nothing compared to when the floor in front of the chair opened up and swallowed the Judge's twitching body.

The floorboards closed after the Judge's body disappeared, and the bloody man in the room collapsed into the chair that the Judge had just died in. The man looked at the razors in his hands and there was the oddest look on his face. It was not a look of remorse or shame, or even one of satisfaction. Rather, the man looked utterly exhausted, like he was completely drained, physically and emotionally. Shaken, I slowly tried to lower the lid of the trunk to keep me out of sight, but the hinges creaked loudly.

I held my breath.

Suddenly, the lid flew open and I faced the Judge's murderer.

"Come for a shave, lad?" The man said darkly after a beat.

"No, I-" I began to speak, but the man hauled me out of the trunk by the collar of my shirt.

"Yes, yes," The man ignored my protests and threw me easily into the chair. "Everyone needs a good shave."

I opened my mouth to scream, but another voice did it for me. A woman's voice, from below, let out a shriek of utter terror. The man froze when he heard the cry, and he glanced down at me in the resounding silence that followed. As he took a second to look at me, something changes in his eyes. In those icy blue pools, there was a flash of something I couldn't name. Covered in blood, eyes blazing, he pointed his razor at me, uttered three words, "Forget my face."

With that, he strode from the room, leaving puddles of blood on the floor in his wake.

- - -

_So…Johanna probably would not have been able to have memories of her parents, but…oh, well. :) By the way, this story has a ways to go. I've been looking forward to writing about the events _after_ Sweeney Todd. _

_The scene where Johanna changes her clothes is dedicated to one of my friends, who, after watching the 1982 DVD, asked: "What, did she just change in an alley somewhere? And where did they get those clothes? Did they jump some poor guy in the street?"_


	7. A Barber and His Wife

_Note: I'm going to move this story into the "Sweeney Todd" fanfic section under Movies within the next few days, because I think that fans of the movie version will like this story just as much as the stage fans do._

- - -

Chapter Six

- - -

I stayed in that awful chair for an unknown amount of time. I glanced down at my collar where the man had grabbed me, and I winced when I recognized the deep stain there as blood. What disgusted me, however, was that it was probably the Judge's blood, rather than the fact that it was blood itself. After some time, I slowly got up from the chair, cringing as I felt my clothes stick to the chair for a moments because of the blood. I walked absentmindedly across the room to the door, not caring that I was walking right through thick puddles of blood. I was about to walk outside when I ran into Anthony and two policemen.

"We heard screaming," One of the officers said immediately. He eyed my bloody appearance quickly. "Are you all right, miss?"

"Johanna," Anthony reached out a hand to touch my arm comfortingly. "Johanna, are you all right?"

"Yes…yes, I'm fine," I managed to say after a moment.

"What happened 'ere?" The second officer asked; he was a bit rougher than his partner.

"I…I…"

How could I begin to explain what I had seen?

A howl of pure anguish from below saved me from explanation. The officers exchanged a look, glanced at me, and then motioned for Anthony and me to follow them out the door. Anthony threw an arm around me as we descended first into the pie shop, then followed the noise to the lower bake house. I held my breath as the kinder officer led the way deeper into the bake house. The stench that increased as we grew closer to the lower levels was nothing compared to that of Fogg's Asylum, but it was enough to make the rougher officer curse.

We all forgot about the stench when we came upon the gory sight in the bake house that changed my life forever.

In front of us was an enormous black oven; wisps of black smoke escaped from small cracks along the door. Under other circumstances, I probably would have been amazed by the scope of the oven, but my attention was elsewhere that night. To the other side of the oven, there was the end of what looked like a shoot that led upstairs. I gazed at the lifeless bodies of the Beadle and the Judge, and I knew that the shoot led upstairs to the barbershop. At the sight of the pools of blood and the disgusting faces of the Beadle and the Judge, I again felt the urge to be sick. Taking deep breaths, I regarded the rest of the room. A few yards away from the Beadle and the Judge, there were two other bodies. The man who had threatened me upstairs was hunched over the body of a woman that I knew to be a beggar. I recognized her from when she would beg for coins outside the Judge's house.

I vaguely felt Anthony's arm tighten around me, but I did not move into his embrace. I did not hide my face against his shoulder. Instead, my gaze turned from the bodies to where the two officers were looking. They regarded a young boy at a meat grinder in the corner. His hair was completely white, but his eyes were surprisingly calm. He regarded the officers quietly for a moment, then said, "You will pardon me, gentlemen, but you may not enter here. Oh, no! Me mistress don't let no one enter here, for, you see, sirs, there's work to be done, so much work."

He grasped the handle on the grinder and slowly turned it, turning his head towards the machine. His voice was soft, but somehow steady and certain as he continued, "Three times. That's the secret. Three times through for them to be tender and juicy. Three times through the grinder. Smoothly, smoothly…"

"God…" The kinder officer murmured as his eyes went from the bodies to the meat grinder. "God almighty…"

The rougher officer seemed to come out of his shock. He marched over to the boy and grabbed his arm. The boy cried out in pain as the officer yelled at him, "What have you done? What in God's name have you done?"

"Don't!" I cried out as I fully registered the boy's white hair and the vacant look in his eyes. I recognized the boy as kin to the inmates at Fogg's Asylum. "He's…he's insane. He doesn't know what's happening."

The rough officer looked at me in amazement for a moment, then he grabbed the young boy's hand and held it up for me to see. There was blood streaked liberally on it.

"You can call that insane, all right!" The officer snarled. "God almighty is right."

"Mr. Todd," Anthony said suddenly.

"What?" I turned in his arms to regard him. I followed Anthony's gaze to the body of the man from upstairs. "That's Mr. Todd?"

Anthony nodded and left my arms. He lifted the man's head to regard his face, which was deathly pale. Anthony then looked to the woman in Todd's arms. "That's…that's the beggar woman…I've seen her so many times before…"

"'Course you have," The rough officer had come over to us, while the kind officer spoke in soft, quiet tones to the young boy in the corner. "She's been around this area for years…'round fifteen I 'spect."

"You knew her well, then?" I asked softly, feeling sudden sympathy for the woman I had never taken the time to regard before. The kind officer spoke then, saying that he was going for more help.

"Knew _of_ 'er," The officer clarified, bending down to brush the hair off the woman's face. "Yeah…that's 'er. Crazy hag. Lucy Barker as was." The man sighed, and then turned to look at the other bodies. "This is going to take a few hours…I…er, well…"

"You need us to stay?" Anthony asked in a resigned sort of way.

The officer nodded. "Just some questions, once we get the inspectors here."

"Of course," Anthony kept his eyes on me, but I gave him a bracing smile to show that I was all right. For a few minutes, none of us spoke. The officer moved to inspect the bodies of the Beadle and the Judge. Anthony and I continued to look at the bodies of the beggar woman and Todd. There was something about both of them that I could place…I could not take my eyes off of them, and it was for a reason other than the blood they were soaked in.

The silence was disrupted by the entrance of the kind officer, in addition to four others and two inspectors. One inspector moved with the officers to investigate the young boy and the bodies of the Judge and the Beadle, ignoring the other two victims. The kind and rough officers moved back towards Anthony and me.

The rough officer's eyes went wide when he took a closer look at Todd. "Jack, mate…take a look at this."

The kind officer looked up, glanced back at the young boy, then walked over. "What is it…oh my God."

"What?" Anthony asked, impatience edging into his voice.

"That's…that's Benjamin Barker, isn't it?" The kind officer said. "He was shipped off to Australia, though, wasn't he? Years ago…"

"Right…" The rough officer looked amazed.

"Did you say Benjamin Barker?" Anthony asked, frowning.

"Sure," The kind officer replied, peering closely at Todd's…Barker's face. "Looks so different now though…used to be a good-looking chap…but then he was sentenced to life in Australia fifteen years ago. I suppose years in prison will rough you up."

The rough officer blinked in amazement. "I wonder…God, to come back and find your wife like that…" He gestured to the beggar woman.

I frowned and shook my head. "She wasn't always like this? What exactly happened to her?"

"Went completely mad," The kind officer said softly. "I don't blame her. Barker was a good man. I used to come to him for a shave every once in a while…I couldn't believe it when they sentenced him." He took a deep breath and then continued, "But…his wife couldn't take it. From what I heard, she tried to kill herself, but all it did was make her weak in the head…and…so…" His voice trailed off.

"Did…did they have any children?" Anthony asked carefully, avoiding my gaze when I cast him a questioning look.

The kind officer looked startled by the question. "As a matter of fact, they did. A daughter. I think she was taken in by…" He glanced over his shoulder at the corpse of the Judge.

In my mind's eye, I could see it all happen. An innocent man dragged off…a wife in despair, swallowing poison…the stench of death…

Oh, God.

Finally, like I'd been wanting to for the last few hours, I leaned over and retched up the contents of my stomach.

"Johanna, love," Anthony whispered to me as he rubbed my back soothingly. He gently pulled me back against him, wrapping an arm around me. He held me until my breathing returned to normal, then he held me at arm's length to examine my face. "Are you all right, now?" He winced after he asked, obviously aware of how ridiculous the question was, but I knew what he meant.

"No…no, I'm not all right," I looked down at the bodies in front of us. "They're…they're my…"

"God almighty," The kind officer said once again, glancing from the beggar woman to me. "God…"

"They're my parents," I whispered, crouching down next to the side of my mother that was not occupied by my father. I looked down at my mother's wasted face. I brushed away the rest of the hair that was in her face. Her skin was dried out and filthy, and there were several sores around her chapped mouth. The tears ran down my face unchecked as I thought of the picture upstairs of my beautiful young mother. My parents…I then moved over to regard my father, whose body had fallen into place beside my mother. His face was so covered with blood and filth that I could not get a good look at it.

I managed to tear my eyes away for a moment to regard Anthony. When I finally spoke, my voice was accusing, "You knew?"

"I suspected," Anthony replied quietly. "When Mr. Todd…when _your father_ and I arrived in London, he told of a barber who had been separated from his wife by a Judge who…" At that point, Anthony glanced at my mother and flushed.

"Who wanted the wife," I finished for him, looking down at my poor mother. Anthony nodded, and reached out to me. "Johanna-"

"Sir," One of the other officers motioned for Anthony to approach him and one of the inspectors. Anthony nodded, and then glanced at me again. "Johanna." I could not look at him. Sighing, Anthony stood and walked over to the other men. For several moments, hours, I sat there, gazing down at my parents.

Suddenly, the other inspector came over. "Disgusting…what monsters."

"Be quiet," I snapped at him, cradling my father's head in my lap.

The inspector frowned. "Excuse me, miss, but this man was clearly a murderer. He was the barber from upstairs, all these people have had their throats slit, and that shoot over there looks like it goes right up to his barbershop. If you want to add insult to injury, there are human remains in that meat grinder over there." He looked oddly satisfied when he said this. "And as for this…_woman_…" He nudged my mother's head with the tip of his shoe, and something snapped inside of me.

"Don't you touch her!" I screamed.

Anthony, who had been quietly talking to the other inspector, looked over at me in concern when he heard my voice.

The officers around me looked abashed, but the inspector merely blinked. "All I'm saying is, these people are hardly innocent."

"Neither are the men over there," I gestured over to the Beadle and the Judge.

The inspector snorted in amusement, but his eyes narrowed. "That's Beadle Bamford and Judge Turpin over there, miss. You might show some respect."

I laughed, but there was no mirth in it. "Ah, yes…how silly of me to deny the great Judge Turpin the respect he deserves." I had never sounded so bitter, so resentful in all my life. I looked up at the inspector, my eyes blazing. "Do not speak to me of monsters, sir."

The inspector looked at me more closely. "Wait…you're his ward, aren't you?"

"I _was_," I replied darkly, turning my attention back to my parents.

"You aren't sorry?" The inspector pressed, gesturing towards the carnage behind him. I hated the inspector with a passion.

"Leave her be," The kind officer hissed at the inspector. "For God's sake, those are her _parents_."

The inspector looked distinctly bewildered. "Excuse me?"

I looked at the kind officer pleadingly. He nodded and led the inspector over to another corner of the room, explaining everything to him in hushed tones.

The rest of the evening was a blur. I was questioned gently by the other inspector, but I could not offer any help. After a few hours, the inspector told me that the bodies would have to be moved to the morgue.

"You'll want to make arrangements…," His voice trailed off, and I nodded.

"Yes…I'd like to clean all that blood off," I gestured towards my parents. "And I should get them other clothes." I paused, and then spoke more to myself than the inspector, "I want them to look like they did before."

The inspector looked at me quizzically. "I was speaking of Judge Turpin…you were his ward, were you not?"

I fixed him with a dark gaze. "I was…and I don't care what happens to him."

The inspector took a deep breath and continued on as if I hadn't spoken, "It will take a few days for your inheritance to come through, but when it does, it will be more than enough to take care of arrangements for the bodies."

"Inheritance?" I asked vaguely. Anthony came to my side and put a comforting arm around me. That time, I did not pull away.

"Sure," The inspector replied. "He probably left everything to you. It'll be at least fifty thousand pounds."

"That's decent of him," Anthony said without humor or generosity.

"I can check in at the morgue tomorrow?" I asked quietly, watching the coroners take the bodies out one by one.

"Yes," The inspector replied easily.

"Would it be possible to take care of the bodies myself?" I asked slowly, casually.

"Well, er…I suppose," The inspector said, visibly caught off guard. "You'll have to ask the coroner, but-"

"Thank you," I cut him off. Though feeling a bit guilty about my abruptness, I changed the subject and gestured towards the young boy, who was being guided into a straightjacket. "What will happen to him?" 

"Fogg's Asylum," The inspector said brusquely, clearly tiring of my odd questions.

"Oh, isn't there another asylum?" I asked, looking desperately at the poor boy.

"Afraid not, miss," The inspector said, frowning. "And anyway…he's probably an accomplice in all of this. He gets what he deserves."

"But he's just a child…," I pleaded, but the inspector finally turned his back on me with an impatient sigh.

Anthony tightened his hold on me. "Love, let's go." My gaze flickered between the boy and the coroner, who was taking my mother's body out. Anthony turned me in his arms so that I had to look at him. He spoke more firmly: "Johanna, there's nothing you can do for any of them now."

I nodded, knowing that he was telling the truth. But I watched the young boy's dull eyes as his arms were stuffed into the straightjacket with a surge of compassion. He was caged, as I had once been. But unlike me, the boy could not fight, he could not bat his wings against the cage. The boy's eyes met mine for a moment, but there was no recognition in them. Then one of the officers led him away roughly, not caring that he was probably bruising the poor boy. The act made me start to cry again, but that time I feared that I would be unable to stop.

I buried my face against Anthony's chest and thought of dozens of people: My mother, my father, the Judge, the Beadle, the young boy, Anthony, myself.

I wept for all of us.

- - -

_It's always bothered me that absolutely NO ONE in London realizes that Sweeney Todd is Benjamin Barker. He just happens to show up and live in the exact same place that Barker did and…no one. But I guess the everyday Londoner in this case is more likely to recognize an ex-convict than a Judge or Beadle. :P And Johanna had to figure out the truth somehow, so there you go._


	8. Poor Thing

_I'm not well versed in how morgues were run in 19__th__ century London, so you'll have to bear with me :P_

_And nope, there's more:_

- - -

Chapter Seven

- - -

There was a deafening silence between us.

Anthony and I had not spoken a word on the way back to the inn. We had walked out of the bake house and taken what seemed like a very long journey down the street towards the inn. I vaguely heard Anthony make some rushed excuses to his landlady over my appearance and lie about our relationship. He assured her that we were married, but it had been sudden because of my guardian's disapproval. Well, that wasn't a lie. Finally, we reached the room. I sat on the edge of the bed and let out a heavy sigh as Anthony shut the door behind him. For several long moments, Anthony stayed there, leaning against the door; I remained still on the edge of the bed.

"Johanna," Anthony finally broke the silence with my name. "I…"

What could possibly be said?

"Believe me, I would have told you about your parents if I had been positive," Anthony continued in a rush. "All I knew of Mr. Todd–" I winced at the name. "Mr. _Barker_, was that he had been lost around Australia and had been gone from London for several years. He told me about the barber and his wife, and I assume he was speaking of himself, but I never…"

His voice trailed off, and I couldn't blame him. In truth, I was not angry at Anthony for not sharing his suspicions about my relationship to Sweeney Todd. I was not angry at anyone. I felt completely numb, and, therefore, felt nothing.

"Johanna," Anthony said again, a note of pleading in his voice. "Johanna, please say something."

"What do you want me to say?" My voice was harsher than I had intended. I had meant to sound ironic and light; instead, I sounded accusing.

Anthony's face betrayed little emotion at my tone. He merely nodded in acceptance and then moved to sit down next to me on the bed. That damned silence again.

"I'm sorry," I whispered after a few minutes.

"Don't apologize," Anthony said rather brusquely. "You do not have anything to be sorry for.

"We should sleep," Anthony continued. "If we're to go to the morgue tomorrow."

"I…I think I'd like to go by myself," I replied slowly. "I…"

"I know," Anthony saved me from trying to explain. "I understand." I believed him.

Anthony stood, taking one of the blankets with him. "Try to sleep…I know it's hard-"

"You're sleeping on the floor?" I asked, frowning a bit when I saw him move towards the patch of floor on the left side of the bed.

"Well…," Anthony's face heated up.

"I just…I wanted…" What did I want? "Would you hold me?"

Anthony was silent for a beat, but then he smiled faintly and nodded. "Of course."

I took off my shoes, but otherwise remained fully clothed as I lay back on the bed. I watched Anthony do the same, and we were quiet once again as he settled next to me. Our eyes met, and Anthony wordlessly put an arm around me and I settled against his chest.

"Good night," Anthony murmured against my hair.

I did not reply. It was not a good night by any means, but there was something strangely peaceful in it as well. I was with Anthony, something that only a day ago had seemed impossible. The Judge was dead, so there was no one to come between us. But what else had been gained? Knowledge, I supposed. I knew who my parents were, but little good it did me, as they were both dead. For the last fifteen years they had both led miserable lives. What good did it do to know all that about them?

I gazed up at Anthony, whose eyes were shut, but I could tell from his breathing that he was not asleep. I studied his handsome face, and I thought of my mother. I thought of how she could have poisoned herself. I could not find it in myself to resent her for what she had done. Rather, as I memorized the planes and dips of Anthony's face, I understood. As for my father…I was confused. I had seen him brutally and vengefully kill the Judge, but for that, I felt only gratitude, an insight into myself that horrified me. From what Anthony and the officers had told me, Judge Turpin was the one who sentenced my father and banished him to Australia; I could understand my father's hatred. At the same time, there was that awful discovery in the meat grinder…

I shut my eyes tightly, willing my thoughts away. It was all too much to take in in only one night. But when I shut my eyes, I saw flashes of blood, and my parents' cold, lifeless bodies. I opened my eyes briefly before shutting them again, only the second time I saw the inside of Fogg's asylum. I opened my eyes once more, keeping them open that time. Instead of trying to sleep, I listened to the steady beat of Anthony's heart. By that time, he really had gone to sleep. His heartbeat was wonderfully soothing. It beat slowly, evenly, and I knew that he was there to stay. I shut my eyes a final time, but I focused in on Anthony's heartbeat and light breathing.

Mercifully, sleep took me quickly.

- - -

In the morning, I awoke before Anthony. I moved out of his arms gently, but he whimpered lightly in protest. I smiled and smoothed a lock of dark hair out of his face, and he was peaceful again. He looked so _young _when he slept. I made my way over to the window and looked out over London. It was just dawn. The sun crept out behind the clouds on the horizon, splashing vivid colors of orange and red across the city. At first glance, the colors looked violent and harsh. But if one looked closely at the horizon, there were soft tones of purple and pink, with a dark blue lining that had not faded completely; the stars were not yet hidden.

I watched the sun rise for a little while longer before I decided to get dressed. I found my filthy dress, discarded from yesterday, but I quickly decided that I needed to get some other clothes. It only then occurred to me that I owned the Judge's house in Mayfair, where all of my old possessions were. I glanced once at Anthony before pulling on my dress. It was still dirty, but it would do until I reached Mayfair. After rummaging around in the room's desk for stationary, I wrote Anthony a quick note about where I had gone.

I walked slowly towards Mayfair, finding my way by occasionally asking a generous passerby for directions. I took in the sights of London as if I were seeing them for the first time, and in many ways, I was. By the time I reached Mayfair, it was undoubtedly day. As I approached the mansion that had served as a prison for me for so many years, pedestrians looked down their noses at me with distain. No doubt that I looked like a beggar or worse. Holding my head high nonetheless, I could not believe that I was entering the Judge's mansion willingly.

When I entered, one of the maids immediately greeted me, hysteria creeping into her voice, "Oh, Miss Johanna, I just heard!" She looked at me sympathetically. "I'm so sorry for the loss of your father."

It took me a moment to realize that she was speaking of the Judge. Casting her a sardonic smile, I dryly replied, "So am I."

For the next hour, I was left to reassure the servants that I would pay them their final wages and give them enough money to sustain their families for a few weeks while they look for new work. But more than one servant looked relieved and ready to leave the moment I said that it was true the Judge was dead.

"You'll not stay?" One of the maids asked me.

"No," I replied a bit too quickly, making a few eyebrows rise in response. "Too many memories," I amended, while thinking, _'Too many _bad_ memories.'_

I told the staff that they were dismissed for the day and that they could come back the next day for their wages. Once everyone was gone, I looked around the dark front hall for only a moment before starting up the stairs. I ran my hand along the mahogany banister, remembering that when I was a little girl I loved to slide down it. It normally would have been a happy memory, but I remembered the loneliness of my childhood; it would have been a happier memory if there was a friend, or a brother or sister that I had shared it with.

I reluctantly opened the door to my bedroom. I promptly marched over to my bureau to remove a new dress. As I changed, my eyes fell back to my mother's reticule. Sighing, I took it before I went back to the closet to take another dress out for my mother. I took out a handsome dark navy one that I hoped she would have liked. Those chores done, I was ready to leave the house and not come back until tomorrow. After that, I would never return again.

My second stop of the day was the morgue. One of the officers from the other day had given me directions, but it was not necessary. It was just around the corner from Fleet Street. The morgue was a plain building, but somehow imposing and foreboding. Understandably, it had a strange aura of death around it. When I entered, I was greeted by a man who looked to be in his sixties or seventies.

"Can I help you?" he asked quietly. His voice was soft and gentle; he seemed well suited for work in a morgue.

"Yes, my name is Johanna Barker-"

"Ah, yes," the man cut me off. "The officers told me you would be stopping by today. You wish to see Lucy and Benjamin Barker?"

"Yes," I replied, my mouth suddenly dry and my hands clammy and cold.

"This way," the man led me down a handsome hallway. He guided me into a large, cool room that seemed abnormally silent. In the center of the room, there was a large wooden table. On it, my parents lay. I felt my throat close up and tears prick my eyes. The old gentlemen looked at me sympathetically.

"I'll leave you alone for a few moments, then," he said kindly. "They mentioned that you would like to, ah, clean them up yourself. There's some water and rags right there." He gestured to a side table near my parents before turning to leave.

"Wait," I said. "Um…I, I, uh…" I rummaged in my pocket for a few coins. "I was wondering if you could get new clothes for my father." I gestured over to my father's body. "If it's not too much trouble…"

"Not at all," he replied as he took the coins from me. "I'll send my son out right now."

"Thank you," I murmured as he left.

For a long moment, I stood there, just looking at my parents bodies. Then, letting out a breath, I walked over to my parents with resolve. I dipped one of the rags in the bowl of water and started with my father. His face was still covered with blood. The dried, red stains came away from his face easily. Underneath the blood, I could see that his face was wasted. His cheeks were sunken in, as were his eyes. I gingerly opened my father's eyes and let out a choked sob when I saw that they were the same startling blue as my own. Taking another deep breath, I rung out the rag in a second bowl and used fresh water to clean my father's dark, unruly hair. Finally, I moved towards the part I was dreading. I gently eased his collar open a bit more, and I could see the gaping wound on his throat in its full glory. I ran the wet rag along the deep cut, taking away most of the dried blood.

When my father's wound was cleaned as best it could, I moved to my mother. I used fresh rags and water to clear away the blood and dirt from her face. Some of her dried skin came away, revealing a fresher, younger face than the one from a minute ago. When I was finished cleaning my mother's face and wound on her throat, I worked on her clothing. I torn her flimsy rags away easily, but it took a long time for me to put the new dress on her. It fit her reasonably well though, even though she was much too thin and caused the dress to sag in some places.

My work done for the moment, I leaned against the table, feeling drained. After a few minutes, the old coroner came in again.

"Have you finished, my dear?" he asked gently.

"Yes, thank you," I replied, sitting up again. The coroner started to take away the dirty water and rags, but I spoke again, needing to know something, "Sir, if you don't mind my asking, have you lived in this neighborhood long?"

"Oh, yes," he replied, fixing his glasses. "Years and years."

"Then, perhaps you knew my parents," I pressed on gently, gesturing towards the bodies.

"Ah, well…," the coroner looked distinctly uncomfortably. "We were acquainted. But of course everyone in the neighborhood heard about Mr. Barker being sent away to Australia. It came as such a shock. He was such a quiet, polite man."

I turned away from the old man so that he would not see the new tears in my eyes.

"And Mrs. Barker was such a beauty," he went on, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Such a lovely woman." There was a pause. "She did not deserve a fate like this…"

"No, she did not," My voice was firm, but I did not wish to be unkind towards the gentleman. "And yet, no one would help her. I can remember her begging around Kearney Lane for ages. She was insane and begging for years, and no one…" My voice trailed off, choked by tears and anger.

"Ah, but my dear," the coroner began gently. "What could have been done for her? Confinement in an asylum? One of the hospitals? I would not wish a fate like that on her. No…I think that not much could be done."

I only partly believed him. I knew firsthand the conditions of the asylums, and the horrific treatments used on the insane in the hospitals were common knowledge. And yet…

"Poor woman," he sighed. "Husband gone, insanity…" He glanced up at me. "Child taken…not to mention-" He broke off abruptly.

"What?" I asked vaguely. I was not really interested in rehashing the tragic lives my parents led, but his sudden aloofness made me curious.

"Well, that is to say…there were…rumors and such…probably nothing…," He took off his glasses and cleaned them furiously on his jacket.

"Sir?" I was distinctly disturbed by then.

"It's nothing," he said firmly, putting his glasses back on.

"Sir." It was no longer a request for him to elaborate.

He sighed, then turned and gazed at my mother for a long time. He looked back at me, searching my face. Then he spoke, "My eldest daughter used to work for Judge Turpin. This was years ago, mind you…probably near sixteen years now. Well, apparently…there had been a commotion at one of his ball." The coroner flushed and tore his eyes away from mine.

"A commotion?" I asked, mildly amused by his language. "Sir, forgive me, but you'll have to-"

"There was supposedly some foul play," he continued. "Involving the Judge and your mother."

His eyes met mine, full of meaning, yet I did not understand. I was about to speak again, to ask him what he was implying, but then understanding hit and flowed over me like a tidal wave.

"_How sweet you look in that light muslin gown."_

"_Who wanted the mother."_

"_Ben! I want Ben!"_

My body went cold and rigid. The coroner saw the understanding dawn in my eyes and he looked as though he regretted telling me anything.

"Miss Barker-" he began, but I held up a hand to stop him.

"Thank you for telling me," I said through gritted teeth. I could not feel my feet or hands. "When your son gets back, I would appreciate it if he would change my father." The coroner nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but I went on, "I'll be making arrangements for my parents to be buried this afternoon, so I'll return in a few hours. Thank you for your help."

With that, I turned and left the room. I glanced back only once, and the coroner was gazing down at my mother with such a look of compassion that I felt the urge to cry and be sick all over again.

- - -

I had planned on going back to Anthony after the morgue, but I found that my feet would not lead me back to the inn, no matter how hard I tried. Instead, I walked around the block several times, not feeling my legs at all. My skin was clammy and numb. I imagined that it was how a dying person felt. As I walked, I began to take in the sights of the Londoners around me. At first glance, they were unremarkable. But then I looked closer. A man leered unpleasantly at a woman as she passed. A husband was ignoring his wife while their two children cried and clutched at the struggling woman's skirt. Everyone ignored an old beggar woman on the corner. I saw a man discreetly press some coins into a young girl's hand, smiling as he did so. The young girl looked dead in the eyes and not remotely pleased to receive such money.

I regarded all of that with distain. I resisted the urge to be sick again. How could I have never seen what an awful place the world truly was? My parents…they were not London's first victims. There were plenty more like them on every street.

I glanced back at the beggar woman. Her eyes went off in different directions and her hair was falling out. I felt my throat close up for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. I thought of all the times I had passed my mother on the street without a second thought. I thought of all the times the Judge had passed her…

The Judge. I felt hatred rise up in me, coursing through my veins like an icy poison. Before, I had resented him and been disgusted by his presence, but such vengeful hatred was new. It terrified me, for I knew that if the Judge stood in front of me, I would not hesitate to kill him. For in my mind's eye, I could see him raping my mother. I could see her scream and sob, helpless. I could also see my father's fury against the Judge when he had killed him. I wondered if my father knew about the rape. If so, I could hardly blame him for slaughtering the Judge in the way that he did.

As I passed the man who had leered at the passing woman, I glared at him. He looked distinctly ruffled by such a reception from such a pretty girl.

- - -

_Ah, the average Londoner…they know so much ;)_

_More to come!_


	9. Epiphany

_Whew, two chapters in one day:_

- - -

Chapter Eight

- - -

I gazed up at the building in front of me, oblivious to the people moving around me and casting curious glances at the strange girl fixated by Mrs. Lovett's Pie Shoppe and Sweeney Todd's tonsorial parlor. I lingered outside the gate for several minutes, unsure of whether or not I should really go in. There was nothing really there for me, but somehow I felt that it would put some of my ghosts at rest to visit my old home again. Taking a deep breath, I went through the gate and climbed the creaking stairs that led up to the old apartment. When I reached the door, my hand hesitated over the doorknob before turning it ever so slowly and pushing the door open. The bell chimed above the door to signal an entrance, but I knew that there would be no one to greet me.

The room was dim. The only light came from the large window on the wall that faced the front street, but the cloudy sky only cast an eerie glow on the dark room. The wallpaper was faded and torn in places, and I wondered how my father had managed to come back here after all those years. It must have been something akin to his own personal hell, trapped in here with nothing but memories and hate. I regarded the chair in the center of the room silently before deciding to avoid touching it. Instead, I wandered over to an old crib…_my_ old crib. I lifted the filthy veil off of it and uttered a soft gasp when I saw an old doll in the center of it. With its cracked pale face and torn hair, the doll looked more like a corpse than a child's plaything.

I quickly drew the veil back over the crib before walking back over to the dresser where I'd seen the picture of my mother before. My vision blurred as I picked up the framed pictures of my mother and I. My fingers traced my mother's beautiful face, and I could not imagine her facing the hardships of life on the streets. I thought of the times that I had seen her offer herself to men on the street and I shivered. I knew that there were men in London who would have gladly taken her up on her offer. I choked back a sob as I thought of my mother shivering in a brothel, insane and discarded. I closed the frame and pocketed it. I then turned to the handsome wooden case nearby. I opened it slowly, swallowing hard when I saw the beautiful razors inside. The silver shined brightly even in the room's dim lighting. I gently picked one up, the silver wonderfully cool against my skin. It opened easily, the razor swinging out from its sheath. A sudden chill ran down my spine and I quickly closed the razor and set it back in its case.

For a moment I simply stood there, unsure of whether or not to take the razors. They had done so much damage, but what else did I have of my father's? I glanced up at the mirror in front of me. I had his eyes. Sighing, I took the razors. I stopped at the door, turning back once more to gaze around the room. I drank in every detail, memorizing every spot of the place until I was satisfied.

"Goodbye," I murmured to no one as I opened the door and walked out into the daylight.

Later, as I walked along the Thames, I opened the razors' case again. I promptly took out each razor one by one and threw them into the merciless river. With a last show of strength, I threw the box out into the water, reveling in the resounding _splash_ it made. The crushing waves took my father's weapons, and it was as if they had never existed.

- - -

I was about to go back to Anthony when a sudden urge gripped me. I believed what the old coroner had told me about what had happened to my mother, but I had to be certain. I could not say why. I needed someone to tell me the complete truth. But more importantly, I needed someone to blame, someone to yell at, someone to pass judgment on. Resolve and anger led me back to Mayfair for the second time that morning. I passed the Judge's mansion without a second glance. Instead, I went towards a handsome building on the corner. I knocked only twice, but the force of my hand made sure that I would not be ignored. A maid that I recognized answered.

"Miss Johanna," she greeted me cordially enough, but I could tell that my appearance disturbed her. "May I ask what you're doing here? Mrs. Bates heard about your father…"

"Yes, I was wondering if Mrs. Bates was in," I cut the maid off quickly.

She looked taken aback at my abruptness, but her professional nature took over and she nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll…I'll just tell her you're here. I won't be a moment."

She disappeared down the hall and I waited quietly. I had come to see Mrs. Bates, a woman married to a member of Parliament who had lived down the street from the Judge for as long as I could remember. She was just as vain as the other women the Judge had introduced me to, but there was a strange kindness in her as well. She seemed to take pity on me more than others did; she had made sure that I knew I was always welcome at her home. Given my situation with the Judge, however, I could only very rarely take her up on her offers.

"Miss Johanna!"

Mrs. Bates appeared at the end of the hall. She approached me quickly and took my hands in hers. She was a handsome woman in her forties; she had clearly been a great beauty when she was younger. "I am so sorry to hear about your father."

"Yes, thank you," I replied rather rudely. "I was wondering if I could talk to you."

"Of course, my dear," she said after a moment, looking a bit shaken by my response. She led me into her handsome drawing room. She turned to address the maid, "Tea, Bridget, please." The maid nodded and exited the room swiftly as Mrs. Bates guided me over to her immaculate white chaise. Smiling sympathetically, Mrs. Bates turned back to me and asked, "Now, what did you want to talk about?"

"You've gone to many of the Judge's balls, have you not?" I asked. I was not ready to come right out and ask her about my mother. Mrs. Bates was an astute woman; it would not be easy to draw information out of her.

"Why, yes…yes, I have," Mrs. Bates replied, her eyebrows raising delicately at my odd question. "For years."

"Then I wonder if you could tell me about my mother?" Well, apparently I had no self control. Perhaps it was easier that way: if I approached her directly, there would be little room for lies or excuses.

Mrs. Bates paled a bit, but otherwise gave away no emotion. "Why, I never knew your mother, dear," she lied beautifully, with just the right amount of concern and seriousness. I withdrew my hands from hers, and she stood in response. She appeared casual as she walk over to the mirror above her fireplace and fixed her hair. "Or if I did, I do not remember her."

"Oh, I think you would remember her," My voice was venomous then. "Unless you make it a habit of going to balls where women are raped."

My harsh, blunt words were met with aching silence. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly. If not for the noise, one would think that time had stopped. I remained still in my seething fury on the chaise, and Mrs. Bates hands were still in her hair. Finally, she spoke, but I had to strain to hear her whisper:

"What…what did you say?"

"I think you heard me," I gritted out.

"I…I…" Her voice shook, and for the first time, I could sense real emotion in it.

"Tell me, because I'm curious," I began, my voice unrelenting in its harshness. "As a woman, how do you live with yourself? How can you look at yourself in the mirror and not be ashamed?" I stood up at that point so that she could see me behind her in the mirror. "You saw her violated like that and you did nothing. How could you-"

"Stop it!"

I froze. I had not realized that Mrs. Bates was capable of such emotion, or such volume. For a moment, neither of us spoke, then she lowered her voice to no more than a whisper, "Stop it."

"Why should I?" I asked.

"You don't understand," she turned and looked me in the eyes. There was something in her wide brown eyes that I could not name. "You don't know what it was like."

"Tell me then," I replied, biting my words. She looked at me incredulously. "Tell me exactly what happened."

She took a shaky breath and guided me back towards the chaise, but I shook her hand off my arm. She looked only vaguely hurt, but she did as I asked, and told me. I took in her words silently and digested all of the information: how my mother had been given glass after glass of wine, how she had fallen onto a chaise, how the Judge had taken advantage of her there, and how the entire time everyone laughed. At that last detail, I stood up angrily once more and walked over to the fireplace. I glanced up at myself in the mirror, and I did not recognize the anger or hatred in my face.

"Johanna," Mrs. Bates said, standing as well. "What happened to Lucy…"

"I have not given you leave to be so familiar with her name, madam," I snapped angrily.

"Do you think I never think about what happened to her?" Mrs. Bates continued. "Do you think a day goes by where I do not feel guilty?" She sighed and sat down again, looking only at her hands. After a moment, she looked back up at me. "Why did you come here, Johanna? Do you want to hear how guilty I feel? Well, there you have it. What else do you want? To pass judgment on me?"

I almost laughed at her words. A few minutes ago, that had indeed been all I had wanted. I had been prepared to scream at her and blame her for my mother's misfortunes, to take out all of my anger and resentment on this one woman, who had in fact been kind to me. I should have been a better person. I should not have stooped to her level or the Judge's level, but I would not contain my anger. I would not give her the satisfaction of forgiveness. I wanted her to suffer more sleepless nights thinking about my mother and how she did not help her.

"I would not presume to pass judgment on you, Mrs. Bates," I replied, my voice steely and steady. I met her eyes and stared her down. "It will be enough for you to suffer God's judgment. You do not need to suffer mine." Her eyes left mine and she looked down at her lap. "Goodbye, Mrs. Bates."

"Where will you go?" Her voice wavered a bit, but I could sense genuine concern in it.

"I will stay in London for a few days, then I will leave for Plymouth with my husband," I told her honestly. After all, Anthony _was_ practically my husband. "And I shall never think of you, the Judge, or anyone else from this place."

I turned on my heel and did not spare her one more glance as I walked out.

- - -

The outside air was surprisingly refreshing. After the morgue, the barbershop, and Mrs. Bates, I was eager to be back outside and return to Anthony. I made my way back to inn near Fleet Street as fast as I could, but when I returned, Anthony was not there. I pouted a bit as I read the note he had left me, but I smiled faintly when I read his reason for going. He had gone to arrange the plots in the cemetery where my parents could be buried. I was relieved that he had taken one more duty off my list, but I missed him after the hours I had spent away. I yawned suddenly, feeling exhaustion fall on me heavily. I had not slept very long the night before, so I settled in on the bed and happily let sleep overtake me.

When I awoke, I felt disoriented. The room was dimly lit, and it was obviously dusk outside. As I sat up, I finally saw Anthony sitting in the corner of the room, reading quietly. He glanced up when he sensed my movement.

"Hello," he murmured softly, getting up and coming over to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Hello," I replied, smiling a bit when he kissed me. He pulled back and stroked my cheek gently. I glanced out the window again before asking, "How long was I asleep?"

"Four hours," he replied, smoothing a lock of hair behind my ear. "I came back around two o'clock and you were fast asleep."

"I didn't realize how tired I was," I murmured. My stomach rumbled loudly. I had not eaten in over a day. Anthony chuckled as I continued, "Or how hungry."

"Here," he said as he handed me a plate of food. "I brought it up from downstairs."

I took it gratefully and quickly started tearing the bread into pieces to eat. He watched me eat for a moment before he spoke.

"How was your day?" he asked, and I could see the anxiousness in his eyes.

"Eventful," I responded honestly. "Everything is set at the morgue…oh, I told them I'd be back." I glanced outside. "I suppose it's too late now."

"It's all right, we can go tomorrow," Anthony said gently. He glanced at my pocket. "I saw the pictures."

I swallowed. "Yes, I went back to the shop."

"You took so long I'd thought you'd gotten lost," Anthony said after a beat. "But you found the morgue all right?"

"Yes," I replied. "I also went back to the Judge's mansion to change." I gestured to my new dress. "And then…I visited an old acquaintance." I could not bring myself to say friend, for it would be a lie.

"Oh?" Anthony raised an eyebrow.

I could not help it. I broke down and cried. It seemed like all I had done in the last twenty four hours was weep. Anthony quickly took me in his arms, and I buried myself against his warm chest. He softly shushed me and cradled me for a few minutes until I calmed down. I almost cried again at the feel of his fingertips brushing the tears off my cheeks tenderly.

"What's all this about?" Anthony asked quietly. "Your parents?"

"Yes…," I finally responded, my voice choked with emotion. "But not in the way you think."

I divulged all the information I had learned about my mother. Anthony listened quietly, but I could see his eyes harden when I described how the Judge had taken such horrible advantage of my mother. When I was finished, tears had come back to my eyes. Anthony stood and looked out the window. When he spoke, his voice was steady, but there was obvious anger.

"Johanna…when you lived with the Judge," he began. "Did he ever…that is…did he ever try and-"

"No," I interrupted quickly, knowing what he was trying to ask. "No, he didn't."

"Oh," he breathed out a sigh of relief. "All right." He was quiet for a moment before he said a bit more quietly, "I'm sorry, Johanna."

I nodded in recognition, but I did not want to talk about my mother anymore. Anthony must have sensed that, because he did not speak again. He went back to his chair to read again, and I continued to eat. The sun had completely set, and there was only the dim moonlight from outside and the candlelight inside to illuminate the room in a soft glow. When I finished eating, I set the plate aside and studied Anthony for a minute. He glanced up and looked amused by my inspection. He opened his mouth to speak, but I spoke first:

"Anthony, why did you come for me?" I asked quietly.

"At the asylum, you mean?" he responded, frowning. "I had to. I couldn't leave you there-"

"No, I mean when I was with the Judge," I interrupted. "You just saw me at my window, and…" I smiled a bit at how ridiculous the situation sounded when spoken aloud.

"I suppose…," Anthony looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose I thought you looked very lonely." He set his book aside. "And I knew what it felt like to be so lonely." He looked very handsome as he glanced up and met my eyes. He smiled and added, "I also thought that you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen."

I blushed and looked away, making him laugh softly under his breath. Anthony smiled a bit more when he asked, "What about you? Why did you decide to go off with a sailor you barely knew?"

"I live a very scandalous lifestyle," I teased lightly, moving over when he stood and came over to sit near me on the bed.

"Indeed," he replied. He reached over to twirl one of my curls around his finger. "But really…"

"I thought you had very kind eyes," I murmured softly as his mouth drew closer to mine. Our lips met, and I felt something close to peace that I had not felt in ages. When he broke away, I quickly brought my hands up to grasp the back of his head and pull him back down again. He smiled against my mouth as I tore insistent kisses from his.

"Kiss me," I ordered in between kisses.

"I am," he countered.

"Harder," I requested desperately. I needed to feel him. He pulled me a little more firmly into his arms and held me more tightly, but I needed more. I kissed him harder, letting my frustration and anger over the past day's revelations pour into his mouth. I opened my eyes to see that he was frowning at my sudden urgency, but he was kissing me back nonetheless. Minutes, hours later we broke apart. His eyes were darker than before and his lips extremely swollen. I wondered if I looked just as alive as he did.

"More, please," I pulled him down for another kiss, but that time, he resisted.

"Johanna, you've had so many shocks today," he protested, but his last few words came out more like moans as I stifled him with a kiss. Finally, he pulled back and held me out at arms length. "Johanna."

"I just…" _I just what?_ I had no idea what I wanted from Anthony right then. I was aching for human contact, just so I knew that I was not dead like my parents. So that I knew that there was a way to feel pleasure and happiness again. I drank in the intoxicating sight of Anthony flushed with passion, and I knew that I wanted to feel close to such a genuinely good man. I was aching for _him_. But that was all new to me. I was unfamiliar with those sorts of emotions. I had never explored that side of myself, the passionate and untamed side; the side that I wanted Anthony to explore.

He was looking at me expectantly for me to continue my thoughts. Finally, I spoke weakly, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Anthony replied, then he sighed and looked down at where our hands were joined between us. "Johanna…we should sleep."

"I've slept for ages today," I protested, and Anthony cast me a dry smile, responding, "So you have."

"Do you still want to marry me?" I asked suddenly, and Anthony started at my abruptness.

"Yes, of course," Anthony replied, quirking an eyebrow. "Why-"

"Let's get married, then," I said desperately. "Tonight. Now."

"Now?" he looked hesitant. "You want to get married at this hour?"

"It's not so late," I argued. "We can find a church right now."

"I…," Anthony looked caught completely off guard. But then he blinked and smiled, looking at me again and saying, "All right. We'll get married." He blinked again in an amazed way and laughed a little.

"All right," I smiled in a dazed sort of way. _Finally, finally…something that actually felt right._

_- - -_

_Please review!_


	10. Lying in Ashes

- - -

Chapter Nine

- - -

I had never really thought about what my wedding would be like. When I was a little girl and a young teenager, I was resigned to the fact that I would probably not be in love with my husband. Perhaps it was because I had never fantasized about my future wedding that I did not mind being married late at night and on a spur of the moment. Anthony and I had found a church quickly, but it took some pleading to get the sleepy looking priest to consent. He looked a bit suspicious, but he did not question us when Anthony explained that my parents were dead and that I was fleeing a cruel guardian. Before he performed the ceremony, though, he asked:

"Are you certain you do not want to wait until morning?"

Anthony and I glanced at each other and smiled faintly. I shook my head at him, and Anthony nodded, telling the priest we were certain that we wanted to get married that night. The priest sighed in a resigned sort of way and nodded. The priest performed the traditional ceremony while Anthony and I held hands, not taking our eyes off of each other. Standing with only Anthony and the priest in the quiet church, bathed in candlelight, with moonlight filtering in through the windows, I could not have imagined a better wedding. When the priest was finished, I felt more than a bit surreal.

_I'm married,_ I thought giddily. It was a strange feeling. It seemed like the past few months…_years_ had been nothing but endless misery and hopelessness. Only a week ago, locked away in the asylum, I would have thought that moment to be impossible. But Anthony stood in front of me, real as anything, as my husband. _My husband…how odd._ Anthony must have sensed what I was feeling, because he gave me a lovely, encouraging smile before he kissed me. The horrors of the past twenty four hours seemed to melt away as we exited the church and walked back towards the inn. I did not loosen my grip on Anthony's hand as we walked, and I resisted the urge to smile broadly at everyone we passed. My happiness seemed to outweigh the misery from the rest of the day that had threatened to drown me. Never before had I felt so free. I was walking around London with a man who loved me, and who _I_ loved in return.

I looked over at Anthony's handsome profile and felt another rush of giddy happiness. I was not sure how I ever could have lived without him. He was the only genuinely good man I had ever known, and yet…

My thoughts strangely drifted to my father. I could not bring myself to hate him, but I was not sure that I could exactly love him either. Given the discovery in the meat grinder, the brutal killings of the Judge and the Beadle, not to mention my mother…I could not stop my train of thought that time. Though I was not sorry for the deaths of the Judge and the Beadle, I could not stop thinking about the wound on my mother's neck. All evidence suggested that my father had killed her…but why? Had he not known it was her? But even so, why would he kill a defenseless beggar woman? Then again, why would he kill all those innocent people who had become food for the city? I had a million questions running through my mind, but there were no answers. What was worse, there was no way to get answers. My parents were dead; they could not put an arm around me and explain everything.

As we approached the inn, my thoughts became more practical, and I felt my nerves act up inside of me. Despite my passionate reaction to Anthony earlier, I knew what was expected on the wedding night and I felt afraid. Anthony and I did not speak as we walked up the stairs to our room. When we entered the room, I was reminded of the awkwardness between us the previous night, only there was no longer a cloud of doom hanging over us. I glanced at the bed, which I reluctantly went over to and sat down on. After shutting the door, Anthony looked at me quietly for a few moments. Then, he sighed and came over to sit by my side. I did not stop him when he idly reached over to stroke my arm.

"Johanna," he murmured my name like a prayer. He looked shy, like he had been when we'd first met. "Johanna, I do not…_expect_ anything tonight."

I made a noise that came out somewhere between a choked sob and a laugh. Anthony looked concerned for a moment, as if he'd said the wrong thing…as if. I smiled at him to ease his anxiety. Then I raised a hand to his face to stroke his cheek, "You're a good man."

He smiled a bit at that and leaned into my hand. "You're a good woman."

I did not know whether to laugh or cry at his response. His sentiment was so unlike anything I had heard from the other men in my life. The Judge had treated me as something to be controlled, to be possessed. The Beadle and the Judge's other acquaintances had eyed me in a similar way. At the asylum, I had been constantly informed of how "bad" I was, how sinful. Anthony was the only man I knew who seemed to cherish me and to think of me as something of value.

"Anthony," I whispered his name before I pulled him in for a kiss. He responded carefully, barely applying any pressure as he held me, as if he thought I might break. For a few minutes, we did nothing more than kiss and hold one another. I was only vaguely aware when I lay back on the bed, taking Anthony with me.

"Johanna," he sighed as I adjusted my body underneath his. He looked at me questioningly for a moment before his hands moved beneath me to reach the laces on the back of my dress. I swallowed nervously before I nodded my consent. As I felt Anthony's fingers undo the laces, I looked into his eyes, which never left my face. I felt my nervousness melt away as he smiled softly once more and kissed away any lingering doubts.

That night was a wonderful blur, as so many of the truly blissful things in life are. But what stood out in my mind above all else was that, for a few hours at least, all of my demons were kept at bay. I could only pray that the incredible sensation would last.

- - -

When I awoke the next morning, I realized that I had slept much later than I had the previous day. Sunlight poured in through the window and splashed the walls. I looked over at Anthony's sleeping form and smiled. He looked extremely peaceful, lying on his stomach with one arm carelessly thrown around his pillow. I had never really noticed how brown his skin was until I noticed its obvious contrast with the pale sheets. I rolled over onto my side and idly reached over to trace the occasional scar on his back, starting a bit when I heard him chuckle.

"That tickles," he murmured against the pillow, his eyes opening and blinking in response to the bright sunlight. He propped his head up against his hand and smiled. "Good morning."

I blushed a bit as I pulled the sheet up higher on my body. "Good morning."

He reached over to brush a lock of hair out of my eyes. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, fine," I answered, feeling my cheek instantly warm in response to his fingers. He chuckled at my blushing and leaned forward to kiss me lazily. It felt strange to be so at ease. I was still unused to the idea that Anthony and I were completely free, that there was no one chasing us, that there was no need to rush. All the same, I kissed him a bit more urgently, bringing my hands up to tangle in his hair. He chuckled again as he pulled me to him.

"Patience, love, we have all day," he murmured against my mouth. "We have all of our lives."

I hummed in pleasure as we traded lazy kisses, but then I pulled back gently. Anthony relaxed back onto his stomach again, and his eyes shut gently, a content smile playing about his lips. For some reason, the beautiful image brought tears to my eyes. Marrying Anthony had given my life some peace, but I still felt that I was carrying an enormous weight on my shoulders. Before I could stop myself, I whispered, half crying, "He killed her."

Anthony opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows, looking appropriately concerned at the abrupt change in my mood. He reached over to stroke my forehead, his thumb reaching down to wipe the tears from my eyes, before murmuring, "You don't know that…you don't know-"

"Why he did it, but I know that he did it," I cut him off. To that, Anthony had no reply. He continued to stroke my forehead idly, occasionally pressing a soothing kiss to my right temple. Finally, I spoke again, half to myself, "All my life I wanted to have parents. I wanted a mother and father who loved me. And now I know them…and I…" Tears sprung to my eyes again and I could not finish my sentence. After a moment, I tried again. "I just feel as though no matter what I do, things are going to end badly. I finally found my parents, and they're dead. Worse than dead…And I keep seeing their faces…there's so many dead faces…" I pressed a hand to my forehead as the tears came, my fingers meeting Anthony's. Anthony pulled me back to his chest and waited patiently for me to finish crying. When I was finished, I sighed a bit. "I'm sorry…I don't mean to-"

"Don't apologize," Anthony murmured against my hair. "You have nothing to apologize for."

I let out a shaky sigh and wiped the rest of my tears away, before continuing, "I feel so…damaged. You do not deserve-"

"Johanna," Anthony cut me off sharply. "You're absolutely perfect. You're not damaged in any way."

I wanted to laugh at the irony. Anthony would never know how damaged I really was, because he would never look for it in me. What would he ever know about my years locked away with the Judge? He would never know what it had been like for me in the dark for all those years, never know about the dark corners of myself that I knew too well. He would never understand that I had felt akin to Lady Macbeth since I had seen the Judge killed, unable to wash blood off my hands, even if there was nothing there. And yet…though it saddened me to admit it, a part of me felt better knowing that Anthony would never completely understand me. Perhaps it was that way with all people, hiding a part of themselves at all times, even from those who truly loved them.

So I did not argue with Anthony's statement. I took comfort in his thoughts, and merely made myself comfortable in his embrace. Finally, I knew I could not avoid what had to be done. "I have to see them buried later today."

"I know," Anthony replied, nodding in understanding. He pulled me closer to him so that I was splayed across his chest. For the longest time, Anthony idly played with my hair while I traced random patterns on his chest. I did not pay attention to the sun steadily rising in the sky outside, marking each passing hour.

- - -

When we finally got out of bed, we quickly dressed and prepared to see my parents buried. The early morning sunlight was quickly overtaken by stormy clouds that loomed ominously. Sure enough, by the time I was watching my parents lowered into their graves, there was a light rain pattering down. I did not take shelter from it. Instead, I held Anthony's hand tightly like a life line as I took one final look at my parents before their coffins were shut. They were buried in unremarkable coffins in an unremarkable cemetery. I was not sure as to whether or not they would have liked that, but I found the normalcy of the whole thing comforting and somehow appropriate.

The afternoon my parents were buried was the day the news broke about the "Scandal of Fleet Street." My father and his landlady, a Mrs. Nellie Lovett, were called awful things in the street. Shortly thereafter, the gossip started about the whole sordid tale: who my father really was, that my mother was found alongside the Judge's and the Beadle's bloody bodies, the meat in the grinder…I felt ill each time I passed someone whispering the story on the street on the way to the cemetery.

"Yes…shocking!"

"His _wife_, if you can believe…"

"Never!"

"Truly?"

"Demons…monsters…"

I blocked out the whispers, retreating back into my own world, a skill that I had perfected over the years. I watched in silence as the coffin was opened for me to look at my parents a final time, as my parents were lowered into the grave, and as the gravediggers began shoveling dirt over the coffins. Anthony did not press me. We watched for nearly an hour for the graves to be filled again. Then Anthony and I were left alone with the dead. We marked my parents' side-by-side graves with two stones and a few red roses. Elsewhere, the Judge was having a lavish funeral that only a few dignitaries attended. People showed up out of duty, I'm sure. The Beadle also had a funeral, a bit more quiet, but with plenty of obligated people nonetheless. The Judge was placed in a family tomb, as if he were royalty.

To this day, there are no flowers there.

- - -

_Sorry for the delay! I've been working on another Johanna-centric story (but Alternate Universe, and significantly darker than this one), which has been taking up some time, in addition to the always present monster, school._

_Only two or three more chapters to go!_


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